oceans between us
by jadeddiva
Summary: Captain Swan drabbles based off tumblr prompts
1. oceans between us

**oceans between us ( I will cross them all for you)**

When she sees them standing together, Hook and her father, she does not think much of it. They have bonded through this quest (as if she needed further proof of the pirate's character - her father would be his staunchest supporter she is sure) and she does not pay much attention to their quiet conversation, not with her son in her arms.

It is only when they board the ship, when Hook stops Neal, that she worries.

"You steer her true, like I taught you," Hook says, arm on Neal's shoulder. Neal nods, and Hook steps back.

Emma stands at the railing. "Come on, Hook, no time for goodbyes," she calls, her voice crisp in the cool dawn of morning.

His eyes meet hers and he shakes his head slowly. "No, love," he calls back, "someone needs to stay behind."

Her fingers grip the wooden rail. "What do you mean?"

"The secret of the island," he says. The boat lurches. Pan's shadow has been attached to the sails. "If the shadow leaves, a soul must take its place. Let the shadow get you home, love."

Her stomach drops, her mouth opens in a gasp – he cannot be serious. In no world would he be serious.

She remembers his earlier conversation with David just as her father's arms wrap around her to stop her – from what? From jumping off the ship and dragging Hook behind her? She struggles but David is strong.

"Goodbye, love," he calls, and just before he turns to walk into the dense jungle foliage she catches his face. The expression changes from the carefree one that he wore talking to her to something different, something wary –

Something broken.

"Hook," she screams, watching his back flinch. She screams his name as they take off into the sky, and as Neal guides them home to Storybrooke. She screams until she goes hoarse, until Mary Margaret is beside her as well, until she can't see the island anymore because of the tears that stream down her face.

...

Emma does not sleep the first night that they return.

She paces the apartment and when it's apparent that everyone is bothered, she paces at the sheriff's station, which is her domain. She is full of restless energy and no way to relieve it.

They have left Hook in Neverland.

He sacrificed himself for them.

He sacrificed himself for her.

She is not surprised that he does it - did, she wonders if she needs to start thinking of him in past tense now – something that she didn't expect and something she never asked for, something so selfless that she wonders who he really is and if she really knows him (she does, she feels like she does, he's just different from what she thought Captain Hook might be like).

There is a hole in her, like a part of her is missing, and she can't believe that someone she's only known for a month would leave such a mark that it would feel as if something has been ripped from her, body and soul.

She throws her keys across the room in despair or disgust, she doesn't quite know.

(She picks them up a minute later because they're her keys after all.)

Emma drives to the docks, where his ship is, and walks the deck and down below. She doesn't realize at first that she is searching for him until she realizes he's not secretly there, hiding or avoiding her, not even in his cabin.

She does not linger in his room long – there's something so private about being here that she can't be here, has never been here even on the voyage to Neverland – and she leaves and heads back to the station, where she watches the sun rise through plastic blinds and tries to figure out which of the many plans she's been formulating all night will work best.

...

She doesn't sleep well the next night.

Regina has flat-out told her that they're keeping the shadow for good measure, not for any other reason, and that she can't ride the shadow back like Neal did.

"Forget the shadow," Emma says. "Put it back where it belongs. We don't need something like that in this realm."

Regina waffles but Emma continues. "What about Ariel?" she presses. "Can you make another bracelet? We ask her to cross between realms and bring him back. We can return the shadow to it's island. He can bring Hook back."

"My my, Emma, you really do care for that pirate," Regina says with a knowing smile, and Emma shakes her head (even though her heart beats _yes yes yes) _ and says, "I care about doing what's right for someone who helped us get our son back."

The words chasten Regina, who mumbles that she can see what she can do but ultimately it will be the little mermaid who will be the one to travel so she better ask her first.

She turns to her right, half-expecting to see Hook giving her a reassuring smile, but it's just David and his smile doesn't do the same things.

Emma is not sure when she started relying so heavily on Hook for reassurance, but his absence is tearing her apart, filling her with panic that nearly equals how she's felt for only Henry in the past.

They can't find Ariel the first day, so they assume that she's with Eric and so Emma is brought back to the loft to rest. She doesn't, though. She drives through the down and finds herself back at the _Jolly Roger. _

Standing on the deck, that hole inside her threatens to grow to a gaping maw and she can't even imagine how she didn't _know,_ how she didn't know how she felt about him when he was there and now that he's not, it's as if all the feelings are eating her up inside and maybe _that_ is the hole, the knowing that she might not get him back.

There are footsteps behind her and she turns to find Neal approaching her carefully, like one might approach a skittish dog.

"Hey," he says, hands in his pockets. "I heard you might have a way to get Hook back."

She nods. "Yeah, maybe." She sniffs, the cold air making her nose run (or so she thinks).

"You really do care for him, don't you?" Neal asks, and Emma shrugs.

"I don't know," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "All I know is that I can't leave him there, in Neverland."

Neal nods. "Yeah," he says, "you're right. We can't leave him there."

"Yeah," is all Emma says in reply.

...

Ariel agrees and Emma thinks it's because Mary Margaret asked her, because she was quite sheepish when she saw her mother and Emma knows Mary Margaret does not make people sheepish by her presence. All they need now is Regina.

Regina, who is spending the day with Henry.

The third day passes in a blur of coffee cups and TV sitcoms that her parents beg her to watch to keep her mind distracted but she hasn't slept well and she keeps shaking her leg, whether from nerves or caffeine or something else Emma doesn't know, but it annoys everyone around her and she's back at the ship.

She goes into his cabin this time, and lingers. There are maps and papers, a compass and some fancy device that must be a sextant (she remembers Pirates of the Caribbean) and books – so many books piled on the floor and every available surface. Books on the sea, books on history, books on adventure and books on plants.

She opens the books and pages through them slowly, her mouth open in wonder at the markings made in ink around the margins, questions that he wants to know the answer to.

She knows that Hook is a smart man (she will not use past tense) but this is something new. It only makes him more complex and more than just what she thought he was, the pirate who only wanted revenge. She's seen him grow with every word he's spoken to her and every deed he's done but now, he's not here for her to say it and it _wrecks_ her.

She slams the book shut and wraps her arms around herself, trying so hard to keep the sobs inside of her.

When she is spent, and when her emotions cannot take it any longer, she turns around and sees his bed.

It is instinct more than anything else, the need to be surrounded by his scent, the desire to crawl between the sheets and be hit by the smell of _him_, of Hook (of Killian). She wraps the blankets around her and sleeps easily, easier than she has all week, only to be woken by the squeal of her radio.

She sits up, dazed and confused, to hear that Regina has made a bracelet, and they will meet her by the shore.

...

"Tell him to come back to me," Emma tells Ariel, handing them the bracelet and the coconut that contains the shadow. "Tell him if he acts all noble that I'll kick his ass."

Ariel nods, confused, a smile still on her face. "I will do that..."she says, looking at Belle and Mary Margaret for confirmation. The two women nod, and Ariel puts the bracelet on and returns to the sea.

Emma would wait there but her family refuses to allow her and the only compromise they can make is that she can stay on the Jolly Roger. Henry stays with her for a while.

"Do you love him?" he asks. Emma shrugs.

"I don't know, kid," Emma tells him. "I don't know.

She sleeps on the ship again that night.

...

There is a splash and _he_ is back.

Emma runs along the shore and stops, right as he stops at the waterline, Ariel to his left.

"You're back," she breathes, the space between them suddenly huge and frightening now that he's here.

"You scare me Swan," he tells her, "I was not about to get on your bad side."

There's something about the way that he smiles, cocking his head to the left, drenched from his ocean swim, that makes her launch herself at him and hug him. She feels his arms come around her slowly, hand find its way into her hair, and she sighs, deep and contentedly because Hook is back and she will figure out the rest later.

...

She is home, the other asleep, when there is a knock at the door.

It is Hook. He stands, facing her, eyes wide.

"You were in my cabin," he tells her. "You were in my bed."

She feels like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, and she looks down and away. "I'm sorry," she says. "I couldn't sleep and then – "

His hand reaches for her chin, tilts it upward. "I knew I was warming on you, Swan," he teases, fingers brushing along her jawline. She rolls her eyes.

"You have no idea," she says, ignoring his cry of surprise when she pulls him forward for a kiss.


	2. incentive

**incentive.**

Killian looks at the tiny piece of shield-shaped metal that Emma is holding out to him warily.

It had been her idea, not his, to have him assist with law enforcement in the small town of Storybrooke. She had given him a litany of reasons from his time in the navy to his experience as captain of a ship ("all this talk of bad and good form makes me think you'd serve and protect") and he listened to all of them patiently. It was more the opportunity to aid Emma in anyway - and, to be by her side in any way she would have him - that made him acquiesce to her request, though he is not entirely sure what he is getting into.

He opens his palm and allows her to place the badge in his hand. She smiles when she does this, so he assumes his actions have pleased her. He smiles in return.

"Thanks, deputy," she says with a smile. "Time for your first ride along."

It occurs to Killian, slowly but surely (there are times when he's so dumbfounded by Emma that his brain seems to lag behind him) that he doesn't catch the fact that his new badge and new position might actually be a demotion from his previous title of 'Captain'.

He lingers at the station after work, watching Emma sort through piles of paper looking for something. He leans against the doorway, and she glances up (finally) with an exasperated "What now?"

"I'm your deputy," he tells her, fingering the badge. " 'Deputy Hook' doesn't have quite the same nefarious ring as 'Captain Hook', does it?"

Emma puts the papers she was holding down, and places her hands on her hips. "Oh really? You - who rebelled against a king - are going to protest the title of your new position?"

"It seems to me that if you were to offer something with a high rank a new position in a new enterprise, you'd offer something to their current position," Killian counters, "elsewise what incentive would they have to leave it?"

He is only slightly teasing and only slightly put-out that he ranks below a man who was once a shepherd, but there is a small amount of awkwardness that comes with the new title. He's been Captain for so long that this new arrangement makes him feel off-kilter, like regaining his balance after so much time spent at sea.

Emma raises her eyebrows. "So you need an incentive?" she asks, stepping forward and drawing near to him.

"If you want me to wear this badge, perhaps…" Killian presses, feeling tension grow between them as Emma glances to the badge in his hand and then back at him.

"If I promise to make it worth your while, will you stay?" she asks. She glances at him from underneath her eyelashes and Hook stifles a groan. She could ask for anything of him with that look and he'd agree immediately.

"For you, my lady, I would make the effort," he responds after some time, and Emma smiles.

Wickedly.

_Oh._

She reaches forward and takes the badge from his hand, opening the small pin and sliding the metal badge into the leather of his jacket. "If you're going to be my deputy, then you're going to need to wear the badge." Her fingers slide down his chest, catching on the clasps of his vest and resting on his belt buckle.

"Is this an abuse of power, sheriff?" he asks, only slightly ashamed of how breathless and low his voice sounds. Emma leans forward, close to his ear.

"You wanted an incentive? You'll get one." And then her teeth brush against his earlobe and his hips jerk forwards into hers (or maybe she pulls him with the hand still resting on the belt buckle, he's really unsure of his actions because his lips come crashing down into hers and she slams the door to her office suddenly and the next thing he knows he's in her chair with Emma straddling him and this was not what he was anticipating when he decided to confer with Emma about his new title but oh god he will take this opportunity as he presses open-mouthed kisses above her breasts and sucks a bruise on her neck).

"You like this," he growls out between kisses, trying so hard and failing to not rip her clothes off in the middle of her office. "You like me working for you."

"I'll admit it's been a fantasy," she says, unbuttoning her shirt and his and throwing them behind her on the floor. "I think your complaint has been noted, Deputy Jones, and I think Sheriff Swan will handle it personally."

Killian's head falls back as Emma licks her way up his throat and then down his chest, sliding off of him in the process, and thanks whatever deity made him such a stubborn arse about titles and promotion and rigor because it has more than benefited him in the long run, this stupid stubborn way of his.


	3. all is calm, all is bright

**all is calm, all is bright:** CS snowed in

The snow outside is definitely frightful right now.

Emma lets go of the blinds and sighs. She did not really expect this storm to be as big as it is, which is really poor planning because she's lived in the northeast for way too long to not be cautious of snowstorms that the local weathermen actually get excited about.

She does a quick survey of the station and determines that there are two packets of ramen in the breakroom cabinet, a few packets of tea and hot chocolate, and something in the fridge that is questionable. With a storm this bad, it would probably be best if she stay here and monitor the situation instead of going home. She'll call David and put him on alert too.

She sighs. At least there's a backup generator if the power goes out, and a full gas-can in the utility room.

The door slams and she turns, surprised to find Hook walking in. The snow is melting off his coat and she yells, "Hey!" before she stops to consider what he's doing here.

He has been distant lately and she has missed him in ways that she didn't really anticipate. Now he is here, cheeks pink from the cold, hair plasters to his face with melting snow, and her stomach flip-flops the way that it does when she sees him drinking with the dwarves at Granny's.

He freezes, and she gestures at him. "You're melting all over the floor," she points out but he doesn't seem too phased.

"I'm here to ensure that you make it home safe, my lady," he says. Emma frowns.

"I can't go home during the storm – I'm the sheriff, I need to make sure that people are okay," Emma says. Hook nods, and something crosses his face – an expression that she's seen very often lately. It is a look of resignation, a look that tells her that he is letting her make her choice (even if that choice is making him miserable in the process).

"In that case, I shall see you once the storm passes," he tells her, turning away and towards the door to head out into the snow.

She reacts purely based on instinct.

"Stay," she calls out. "Don't go out in the storm. Stay here with me."

Hook raises an eyebrow, shifts immediately into a grin and a wink. "I thought you'd never ask, Swan," he tells her, and she rolls her eyes.

"Go clean up the mess you're making – there's a mop in the utility closet over there," Emma says as she turns towards her office. She needs to call David but she needs to also process this.

Hook is here. With her. In the station. During a snowstorm.

If this isn't a fucking joke she doesn't know what is.

She calls David and tells him not to worry, that she'll be at the station being sheriff.

"Do you want me to come down?" he asks (she can practically see him grabbing his coat and gun).

"No, that's okay, Hook is here to keep me company," Emma tells him. She looks out the window of her office and sees Hook doing a fantastic job of mopping up the wet snow he tracked in. A joke about swabbing decks pops into her head and she bites her lip to suppress her laughter.

"Hook? Emma, are you – ?"

"We'll be fine," she says. "I'll see you in the morning."

When she leaves her office, Hook is still cleaning up the mess. He's taken his coat off and draped it over the back of the chair, leaving him in the vest and shirt she first met him in, wet boots still tracking water on the floor.

"That's it," she says. "I think we have some sweats in the back, you can change and stop tracking water all over the place."

Hook stops mopping and grins. "Why Miss Swan, you seem in a hurry to undress me."

Emma rolls her eyes and walks to the breakroom, where she knows there are extra uniforms. She finds a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt for Hook and tries not to think too hard about the fact that she's spending the night in a police station with Captain Hook.

"Here you go," she says, handing him the clothes as she exits the breakroom. "Knock yourself out. The bathroom is over there."

Hook takes the clothing and hands her the mop, sauntering over to the bathroom. Emma shakes her head and goes back to mopping the floor.

She's always been someone who thinks best when she's doing something, and mopping the station allows her to think through the fact that this is the longest that she and Hook have been together in the same room since they returned from Neverland. She had thought his intentions were pretty clear back then it's been radio silence in terms of him since then and now…

She puts the mop back into its bucket and rolls it back to utility closet.

When she turns, Hook is standing in the bathroom doorway. The sweats are low on his hips and the tee-shirt fits perfectly and she takes a second before she responds.

"Are you warm enough?" she asks, looking down and away as she closes the door. When she glances back, she takes him all in – the hooked arm, where she can see the strap that holds his hook in place, the tattoo in honor of his lost love, the way that he shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. It's moments like this that make her realize that he is more than his moniker, more than the person she first met.

"So what does one do if waiting out a storm?" he asks. Emma puts her hands in her pockets and shrugs her shoulders.

"Don't know," she says. "Usually I'm home when a storm hits so this is my first time being all official."

"And if you were home?" he asks.

"Watch movies and eat crappy food," she tells him. "I guess we do have ramen and internet access…"

Hook raises an eyebrow and Emma shakes her head.

"I'll educate you."

...

She makes them both ramen in the microwave. Hook leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her as she works. Emma glances down at his bare feet.

"Aren't you cold?" she asks, and he shakes his head.

"I've been colder," he tells her. When she raises her eyebrows, he continues by saying, "our realm does not have the comforts of your realm. And I've spent a great deal of my time in that realm in places were comforts are a secondary concern."

Emma nods, handing him a mug of ramen and a mug of tea. He puts his tea down and opens his bottle of rum. She shakes her head when he offers her rum as well.

"If something happens, I need to be alert," she says.

"So what exactly does someone in your position do during storm such as this?" Hook asks.

Grabbing her own mugs, she brushes past him and heads towards her office. "I guess I'm supposed to be a first responder – I respond if there's an emergency. I suppose I should go out and patrol in a little bit, just make sure everything's okay."

She sets her mugs down on her desk and proceeds to find some blankets, indicating to Hook that he should pull up another office chair. When the blankets are obtained and they're wrapped up in them, she fires up her computer and finds Netflix.

"So when I was in Boston and I wasn't working, I used to spend snow days inside watching tv and drinking way too much cocoa," she tells Hook. "It's a good way to pass the time."

They eat and drink in companionable silence only punctuated when Hook asks a question about something in the movie ("why is everyone upset that the small child is left alone, Emma? He sees to be doing quite well for himself at such an age") and she finds that she enjoys this – being with Hook. He was such a comforting presence in Neverland and she wonders if it's because he knows how to be there without invading her personal space (Mary-Margaret could use some lessons on that subject).

She's missed this so much – just being with someone in a moment. Just being with _him_ in a moment.

She's missed him.

Emma sips at her tea and glances over at Hook, who is spellbound by the action on the computer screen. There's a small smile on his face, a look she hasn't seen in quite some time, and it makes her heart hurt to think that he's making himself miserable for the sake of her.

She's read enough trashy romance novels and seen enough movies to know that this is an old story – caring about someone enough to sacrifice your own happiness for their own. She's just never seen it in action, never had someone who cared enough about her to let her try to be happy even if they weren't happy themselves. Her parents could count, she supposes, but the curse impacted her more than it did them, frozen in time as they were. Neal definitely doesn't count.

And then there's Hook.

This is new and frightening, having someone hellbent on your own personal happy ending with the coda that it might not include them.

Their shared kiss in Neverland lingers in the back of her mind every time she sees him. His words, his confession, linger beyond that, as a balm for her wounded soul every time she tries to catch a breath (things happen in this down at a ridiculous pace and sometimes she just wants to feel something other than absolute frustration). She can always trust him, on the rare occasions they see each other these days, to make her feel better in a way that hot chocolate and Henry's hugs cannot.

And that is a new feeling.

The movie ends and Hook stands up, walking towards the kitchen area. Emma just sits there, trying to determine what to do next.

Patrol. She should probably at least pretend that she's sheriff instead of hiding in her with him all night.

She puts her jacket on and bundles up with her hat, gloves, scarf, until she's certain that most of her extremities are covered. She grabs her gun and two flashlights, clipping her radio to her belt and grabbing her cellphone.

Hook is waiting for her by the door, dressed in leather again.

"It would be less than chivalrous of me to allow you to go outside on your own," he tells her sincerely, and she smiles.

"Looks like the storm's died down some," Emma responds. "Let's go walking in a winter wonderland."

Storybrooke is silent as the grave, the snow falling in a gentle way that is nothing like it was hours ago when Hook first walked into the station. It's maybe three inches deep right now and no one is out in the weather. Instead, everyone seems to be bundled up inside, which Emma is grateful for because it means she doesn't have much work to do if no one is out causing trouble or wrecking cars.

"When it snows in the Enchanted Forest, do people normally just say indoors?" she asks Hook, who is walking quietly beside her.

"That they do," he tells her. "They spend time with their family, or engage in other more amorous activities." He wiggles his eyebrows and she smacks him (gently) with her gloved hand. The smile that lights up his face is so different from the look he's been carrying with him and it makes her smile too.

"We should hang out together more often." Emma bumps him with her shoulder. "I know what you're trying to do."

"Do you now, lass?" he asks. His voice sounds too careful, like he's trying to not let his emotions out.

"You want me to be happy." Emma feels heat coursing through her veins, making her unafraid to speak her mind right now. "You think that by staying away that I can be happy."

There is a pause as he gathers his thoughts, and Emma is almost scared of what he is going to say.

"Aye," he says finally. She looks at him and he is looking back at her, eyes expectant. She stops walking.

"Are you happy, Emma?" Hook asks. Snow falls on his face and melts, creating tracks that look like tears down his cheeks. She reaches up with her gloved hand to wipe the water away, and he catches it with his own.

"I am now, Killian," she says softly. She feels his exhale through the leather, watches his eyes close.

"I wanted to give Henry a chance to have this family together, after all that he had been through." Emma smiles.

"Families come in all shapes and sizes in this realm," she tells him. "We'll figure it out."

Hook smiles, opening his eyes. "As you wish."

Emma rolls her eyes at the familiar refrain but that doesn't stop her from stepping forward and kissing him. It is gentle, his lips arm despite the cold air. He wraps his hands around her waist and pulls her towards him easily, letting her wrap her free arm around his back.

She breaks the kiss before she can deepen it when a snowflake slides down her nose and she practically coughs in his mouth. He does not seem phased though, kissing her forehead, and wrapping his arms around her tighter.

"I think Storybrooke is rather safe, love," he tells her. "Perhaps we should return to the station?"

"Perhaps we should," Emma says, removing her arms from him (the loss of warm, of contact, hits her sharply and for someone who isn't so big on touch, it's staggering how she fells now without him touching her).

She slips her hand into his as they walk back to the station, and he squeezes it gently.

"You know, there's a sequel to that movie," she tells him. "They leave the kid in New York City."

Hook Killian scoffs. "Dreadful place. That poor lad."

Emma laughs at his unhappiness in his tone, and snuggles closer to him.

Neither of them are idiots; they're not going to be paying that much attention to the movie when they get back anyway, regardless of where it's set.

...

Morning dawns bright.

Really freaking bright.

Snowstorm. Right.

Emma blinks her eyes open as the phone on her desk continues to do its little vibrating dance precariously close to the edge. She wants to move but there's an arm around her waist and she doesn't really want to disturb its owner, who looks really adorable when they sleep.

But she does anyway, because the last thing she wants to be caught by either Neal or her parents. This means shifting herself out of his arms and standing (even in socks this floor is cold - Killian's either a badass or a liar).

It's David, so she answers.

"Is everything okay?" he asks. "You didn't answer my text."

"Oh, sorry," Emma responds. "I stayed up late last night just in case of an emergency and then I guess I slept in. Sorry. Everything is okay, situation normal."

"Well, in that case," David says, "Henry wanted to go sledding. I can take him if you have things to wrap up at the station."

That bastard.

"I'd appreciate that," she says. "I should be home before lunch."

"Great, I'll let your mom know." There is a pause, then, "Enjoy your snow day, Emma."

"You too." She hangs up, then turns to face the cot where Killian still sleeps, covered in grey blankets. She's surprised that the two of them managed to fit on it, it's clearly for one person but Killian can be very persuasive.

He has changed back into the sweats and tee, and while she wants to wrap herself around him again and go back to sleep, she's also the sheriff and at any given point in time someone could come walking through that door looking for help.

She does it anyway, fitting against him in a way that is just right and rewarded for her recklessness with a sleepy kiss against her hair.

"We need to get up," she says, and Killian groans. She props herself up on an arm and looks at him, slowly blinking his eyes against the glare from outside. When they do open, he looks at her with a slow smile.

They have done nothing more than make out and she feels heat gather low in her belly when he looks at her like that, eyes wide and smile bright, that tells her that any way they might choose to spend this day would be fun.

And isn't that what he told her?

She laughs, and he frowns, probably thinking that she's laughing at him, so she reaches down and kisses him, slowly at first then deepening the kiss, appreciating as his fingers card her hair to bring her closer, changing the angle, meeting her kiss for kiss enthusiastically.

Eventually Emma breaks the kiss, realizing that standing up is far better if she wants to not be caught by some citzen who needs the sheriff so she sits on her chair and pulls her boots back on.

"David is going to take Henry sledding," she tells him. "I'd like to go home and shower first, but I was thinking you could come with us if you wanted to."

Killian smiles. "I'd like that," he tells her.

"Great," she says. "Then let's enjoy this snow day."


	4. lost in translation

**lost in translation**

Emma and Henry like to eat at Granny's diner, and so Hook has taken to joining them for many a meal. It is nice to find an establishment that seems friendly towards him and is _not_ a tavern, brothel, or gambling den, and he knows that he is growing on Granny slowly but surely (he is fairly certain that assisting with the incident last week with an intoxicated dwarf has slightly endeared him to her).

He does not know what they are – Emma and himself – because she does not define it and so he leaves it ambiguous as well. They are more than friends and most definitely lovers, but he does not sleep in her bed save for when her lad is not around, nor does he ask. Their relationship is fragile because in spite of her protestations, Emma is fragile herself and so he does not push, nor rush, nor ask for more than is given.

That morning, she and her son enter and join Killian in the booth in the back, like they have taken to doing. The lad seems to be in an excitable mood today, enthusiastically sliding into the seat across from Killian while Emma stops to chat with Granny at the counter.

"Good morning, young sir," Killian says with a slight nod of his head, and Henry smiles (he is growing on the boy too, he knows).

"So," he asks, "what are you doing for my mom for Valentine's day?"

Killian frowns, unsure of what gibberish the boy is speaking (there are many things in this realm that he doesn't understand, the vernacular being the most vexing). "I don't catch your meaning."

"Valentine's day is next week, and that's when you do something for the person you love. It's a tradition here, and I thought since you and my mom were dating that you would be doing something for her." Henry roots around in his sack and pulls out a piece of paper just as Ruby comes to refill the coffee Killian has been sipping. Henry pushes it across the table. "I wrote down some ideas for you."

Killian takes the paper, trying too hard not to think about the way that Henry just declared his relationship with Emma so casually, and skims the suggestions. Some are ideas that Killian is familiar (write a sonnet, compose a song, flowers and wooing) and others are a bit odd (what exactly is a hot air balloon?) and there is one –

He spits out his coffee and looks up in horror at Henry. The suggestion is both ridiculous and wrong – how can the child write that? Does he kiss his mother with such a foul mouth? It's not that he hasn't contemplated the sort of sort of thing, hasn't been brave enough to attempt it because he hasn't spent a morning with Emma yet, but…

Emma slides into the booth next to him, nudges him with her shoulder. "Hey," she asks, a look of concern crossing her face. "What's wrong?"

"Emma," Killian starts, shaking his head. He glances at the lad (he looks confused) and back at Emma, who is glancing down the list of suggestions and sees the one that Killian is pointing to. "This is…"

_Inappropriate for a child to suggest?_

_Something he really would like to engage in?_

_Wrong, on so many levels, to speak of in such a fine establishment with such excellent coffee?_

Emma looks at his finger, reads the words, and then looks up at him. Something crosses her face – confusion?understanding? something else? – before she smiles easily. "That's when you make food and bring it to your significant other in bed."

"What did you think it was?" Henry asks, and Emma smirks at Killian, who feels as if he just burning up with embarrassment.

"Aren't you late for school?" Emma asks, standing up and ushering a protesting Henry out of Granny's with a banana and a muffin ("what did he think it was?") before returning to Killian's booth. She slides next to him, and raises her eyebrows.

"The king of innuendos…" she says. "You seem awful flustered."

Killian coughs, shifts in the seat, determines what his next move might be. He decides to act on it so he wraps his arm around her and pulls her close.

"I think you would have liked my interpretation better than this suggestions," he whispers into her ear, lingering a moment too long before pulling away (he can feel the shiver go through her body and feels her hand come to rest on his thigh.

"I'll pretend to be surprised," she tells him, voice barely above a purr.

(She does.)


	5. clothes make the man

_Okay, so artielu prompted me this a while ago and I started working on it and then wasn't sure about it. I'm still not, but I found it in my file of unfinished fic so…yeah. I'm not used to writing Emma angst, so let's try this?_

**clothes make the man**

It feels like an invasion of privacy, opening the chest where he stores his clothes, but Killian's given her permission to come and go as she pleases and she does but this is his home, not hers. This is his space, which she only ever occupies when he's there to occupy it with her, and so it is strange for Emma to be here without home, going through his clothes.

(She doesn't know where he is – she assumes that he's with her father, because if he's not with her then he's with David – but she hopes that wherever he is, he's not coming home soon because explaining this might be a bit awkward.)

The chest is kept out of sight in a storage compartment, and Emma feels so strange reaching for it and pulling it out but the thought – of doing something for him, after all that he's done for her – pushes her forward, lets her open the lid.

It is spring in Storybrooke, and the weather has become such that being protected from the elements is not a priority, and so Killian sheds his coat and vest and leather pants for clothes from this ream, which Emma graciously has helped him find. He is still all his swagger and bravado, drawing her attention like a moth to a flame, and even though there have been tentative steps in the direction of a relationship, neither of them has made a leap yet.

Regardless of the fact that he's wearing jeans and t-shirts that in such a way that Emma goes weak in the knees, she can tell that he doesn't feel quite at home in his new clothing (he comments on it on the regular, either while making innuendos about characters on TV shows or bemoaning his lack of coverage during particularly bad storms). He's even shown her his Navy uniform (which is why she knows about the chest) and while he doesn't talk about his time as an officer, she can tell he's wistful for clothing from his home, not hers.

The clothes that Killian has stored away below the uniform are simple shirts that she remembers seeing on others during her time in the Enchanted Forest, made of thin cloth which, as she turns them over in her hands, show careful repair work. Small, neat stiches made to prolong the life of the garment, patches that match exactly – cut from other garments, reused for this purpose. Some of them have slightly different color thread, but all of them are neatly done, stitched by someone who shows great attention to every detail of his life.

Emma can't help but smile as she runs her fingers over the shirts. She's not sure that they're fit for wearing out in public, but maybe he could sleep in them. Maybe they would make him feel better.

(And if she's blushing at the thought of him sleeping in something, she'll blame it on the fact that their relationship hasn't progressed to the point of knowing what the other wears – or doesn't – while sleeping and she actually is not that surprised to realize that this is something she does want to know.)

She bundles the shirts into her oversized bag, and returns to the loft. They smell musty and old, and Emma has decided to wash them because she's not sure how Killian washes anything on his ship and it would be rude to ask – for all she knows, he does laundry at her parent's new house (he probably does, it seems like something David would totally teach him).

She remembers all too well the joys of public Laundromats, hours spent waiting for just one load of clothing to dry all because the dryers were pieces of shit (she didn't have much when she was with Neal, and she's still not someone who hordes things). Sure, it was fun to people-watch, but the process itself was difficult for someone like Emma, who doesn't want the world to know her dirty laundry let alone _see_ her actual, physical dirty laundry.

If she can make things easier for Killian in some way, she'll do it.

The dryer dings, and Emma puts down the magazine she's been reading and goes to unload it. It's only when she holds up the first of the shirts that she realizes that these are probably 100% cotton and she has probably 100% shrunk them.

Fear and panic shoot through her body because _these are not her clothes_ and _he doesn't know she has them here_ and he kept them for a reason, or so she suspects. She paws her way through the other shirts and – yep, completely shrunk down to Henry-sized.

She fists one in her hand and holds it up to her face, sinking to the ground of the small laundry room of the loft, because the emotions flooding through her start with panic and end with regret with sorrow somewhere in between.

She had no right to take his clothes. She had no right to ruin them. And most of all, she's stripped something away from him in the process of trying to do good, and that was whatever nostalgia he associated with these shirts, because unlike Emma, Killian is a man who values memories. She's seen that much in the way he keeps his brother's possessions on him, hidden in a coat pocket. Everything of Milah's is in another box in that room (she knows because she asked about it once, which made for an awkward moment). And these, they could have been Liam's for all she knows.

And she has ruined them.

And that is completely, utterly, absolutely _not okay_.

This is how he finds her later, clutching a tear-stained shirt that is several sizes too small, slumped against the still-warm dryer.

"What's wrong, Swan?" he asks, and she doesn't have the heart to ask him how he got in here, or why, because she did far worse today trespassing on his territory.

She doesn't respond, and so he looks down at the garment in her lap. Killian's eyes go wide and he looks at her, confused.

"You said that you missed your old clothing," Emma says wearily, leaning her head back against the dryer. "I thought maybe I could wash these?" She laughs bitterly. "Actually, who am I kidding, I didn't think much at all."

"Emma…" Killian crouches down beside her, treating her like she's some fragile thing that he's afraid to touch. He flexes his fingers, reaching toward the shirt, trailing them across the fabric. "What happened?"

"It shrunk."

Killian nods. "And you did this because I kept talking about my leathers?"

"Yeah." Emma refuses to look at him. He takes the shirt from her hands, turns it over in his own.

"And you're upset because…?"

Emma looks up, surprised. "I ruined your clothes!" The admission explodes from her, frightening in its intensity, and she claps her hands over her mouth in shock before the tears threaten to explode out of her. She's such a mess over a stupid piece of fabric but she knows it's because it's _his_.

He rocks back on his heels, hand up defensively. "Swan, it's fine, really it is."

"Why would it be?"

Killian smiles, reaching forward to brush her hair out of her face. "Because I don't really hate these clothes you want me to wear. I might miss my leathers, and I might miss my other pirate attire, but I don't feel any fierce need to revisit my old wardrobe. Those were the clothes of another man, one whose shadow followed me for far too long." He smiles. "You might have freed me from him in more ways than one."

Emma opens her mouth and then closes it again, unsure of what to say. Instead, Killian speaks.

"It's no matter, love." He holds up the shirt. "Looks like it might fit you. You can keep it, if you'd like."

Emma huffs out a laugh. "Thanks?"

"I think I'm the one that should be thanking you." Killian stands up, and extends his hand. "Anyway, the reason I'm here is because your father has been trying to reach you. Your mother is making a roast for supper and requests your presence."

Emma rolls her eyes and grabs his hand, allowing him to pull her up. "Roast, huh?"

"It smelled delicious," he tells her, face perilously close to her own. "Shall we?"

"Who invited you to dinner?" she asks as she grabs her keys, even though she knows the answer.

"Your father happens to enjoy my company – more so than his daughter," Killian says with a wink as he opens the door, and as he speaks she realizes how wrong he really is.

"Sorry about the shirts," she says as she locks the door. "I was just – I wanted to do something for you, since you do so much for me."

The look on his face is similar, oddly enough, to how he looked when he first saw her in New York all those months ago – there is a softness to it, the way that he smiles at her with that easy smile. He scratches the back of his head with his hand, and shrugs his shoulders. "That is very thoughtful of you, Swan," he tells her. "But like I said, perhaps I should be thanking you."

"Yeah, well, we can argue who is thanking who more on the way to dinner." She brushes by him in the hallway, smacking into his with her hip. He laughs, and all feels right with the world.

(And if, when they eventually do stumble into bed, he is surprised that she wears that shirt, the look on his face when he casually removes it is worth every minute of frustration over her own supposed stupidity).


End file.
